


An Endless Summer

by imladrissun



Category: NCIS: New Orleans
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imladrissun/pseuds/imladrissun
Summary: Days in the city.





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes he swings by King's place at random times, mostly because he feels guilty. He tries not to only come by when he feels lonely -- for companionship, really -- but doing that would be using King, so he doesn't. 

Then he ends up feeling vaguely guilty he hasn't seen him as much as he'd like, and anyway, he misses him. King is the one person he can relax with, fall asleep next to. There aren't many people on that list.

When he gets there, King isn't at home. He's often at the office, or his bar. Chris has had ample time to peruse his bookshelves, and he gets into a few of them. Mostly poetry volumes, because you can just pick up and go with them, instead having to stop and try to recall the story. He's just gotten to the first stanza of 'The Rose', in an old book of poems, and it makes him think of his girl, his mermaid, who is with god now -- the Rose,  
That this morning did unclose  
Her purple mantle to the light,  
Lost, before the day be dead,  
The glory of her raiment red, ...

There's a creak as the door opens. Chris looks up, startled. It's King, who's staring at him with an odd expression on his face. Chris feels caught, somehow, despite always being invited to stop over any time. It's the book, really. 

"Nice to see you here," Pride says, looking somehow pleased, now. Chris can never quite figure out what he's thinking, when it comes to the matter of himself. 

 

 

 

 

It had been a long day. Paperwork, phone calls, red tape, reading through records, and more paperwork. Pride had swung by his bar first, and then eventually headed home. For a second, he could have sworn he could smell Christopher's cologne [he had a very distinctive smell, after hours of work somehow he still smelled good--it had to be natural], and he smiled to himself as he locked the door behind him and put down the files he'd taken home with him. 

Then he saw the rug. It was tilted, just a little, instead of lining up perfectly with the line in the flooring. So Christopher was here, he thought, astonished, and kept on through the house until he found him.

He was sitting on the floor, in a dark corner between one of the bookcases and the big blue chair, with a book in his hand. Pride suddenly felt consumed by the impulse to see which one it was. The idea of LaSalle going through his things and taking pleasure in reading his favorites was just so touching, exciting -- but also delicious, and yet comforting, too. 

He knew better than to ask, though. Christopher was very solid, like a tower. He kept things hidden, his real self tucked away in one of the rooms, and only revealed parts of himself when he was upset -- when he was throwing things out the windows of that impenetrable fortress. 

He wished he was exagerrating. Despite being with LaSalle for over a year, he had barely opened up at all. Pride had told him about so many different things -- about his innermost thoughts, how he felt about his family, about work, about everything, really. Even realizing his dream of the bar's even greater success was something that he'd enjoyed sharing with Chris.

In contrast, he knew a sum total of close to zero about what Christopher really thought about, well, most things. Anything personal was when he clammed up. He was very charming, very personable, but sometimes that truly seemed to be more part and parcel of the job for him. 

When they were together, in a room over at Pride's, he seemed to like to hear him talk. He asked questions, sometimes, but mostly was quiet. It was odd, at first, and if Pride were honest with himself, it still was. 

Christopher wasn't what he'd expected, he was more. He was greater, more complex than Pride felt he himself was. The days he got letters from his father, he left altogether to be alone. That was the way Pride knew he'd even recieved them. 

He was still worried about him going back to Alabama. It was his only worry concerning Christopher. Anything else, they could get through together. Someday, he knew, they'd have an excuse to force him to come home, and then he might lose him. 

He was bound and determined not to. They'd taken so long to take their bond into an intimate place, he didn't want to waste any time. He knew he'd probably die in action, freeing Christopher to go off with whichever lovely girl that was after him at the moment. There were usually three at any given time, always very different people. 

At least he had New Orleans going for him. Chris loved the city like nothing else. He even loved watching Treme, and that took real dedication. Pride couldn't do it, it was too annoying, with all the little inconsistencies, the little errors. But the city as a whole -- all the different streets veering off somewhere, small unique dishes, tiny private clubs, pieces of almond doberge cake, tiny little markers of difference from Alabama, Pride thought. 

And Percy, too. They had really fallen in together, a true brother and sister. He liked to see Christopher smile for real, they had a sweet way of playing together in words.


	2. Chapter 2

Unbeknownst to Pride, Chris had gotten a new apartment. He was a little miffed, and to be honest, in a bit of a daze, that he didn't know about it. I mean yes, he had regretted pushing so hard about him sleeping in other people's beds and not his own, but he'd been shocked when Chris had revealed why.

Pride tried to keep from mentioning Savannah, not wanting to bring up anything from that time in their friendship. He'd found out from Percy that Chris' hot date was in fact the son of the drone designer, and he'd simply wanted to spend time with him after returning his father's equipment to the family. 

Why hadn't Christopher felt comfortable enough to just tell him that? He must've gotten his fill of good advice, he thought, and Pride frowned at the realization that he'd pushed LaSalle away back then. 

Chris still spent a lot of time alone, out. He and Percy would tease each other, but he could tell that she would take Chris' side over his, and he was happy she was such a staunch friend to him. He did kind of miss LaSalle, though. Since they had started out small, and casual, with just a gentle touch here and there, or an embrace that was more hug than anything else. 

Pride kind of assumed he was getting the hard, wild stuff somewhere else. He certainly wasn't getting it at home with him. When he dropped by, or when he'd been specifically invited over, they didn't even always do anything in that vein. It was almost as if Chris was just lonely.

It was hard for King to believe in it sometimes, even when Chris was lying with him, beside him on the bed. He would watch the big fan turn up above, and smooth his hand over his hair. Chris seemed relaxed but he suspected that was mostly in theory. The back and neck under his hand were not soft and at ease, it was an image of repose that was almost believable.

He tried to get Chris to come over specifically to eat, but he seemed to prefer the takeout he mainly subsisted on. If he were honest, yeah, Pride was a little hurt by it. He had always been proud of providing for the people he loved.


	3. Chapter 3

He's never gone to Christopher's new apartment, but the first time he does is one he won't forget. He'd been unable to reach him for a whole day and a half, which in Christopher land was forever and a day. He always had his phone on him. King had never really looked at it, or asked what he was doing, but he was often glued to it.

God, he even answered while in firefights--so it put King on edge to not get a response for that long. And he wasn't a man for liquor, so where was he?

He went, armed, over to his place, never mind that it was the weekend. He was so worried that he felt like that had no bearing on anything. But when he was ready to break down the door, calling an absent greeting at the threshold, he jumped in surprise when it opened. "Wha'?" LaSalle asked, staring at him hazily. 

He let go of his sidepiece. "Where've you been? Your phone was off."

Christopher furrowed his brow. He looked exhausted. "... I was at the lego charity thing. All day tournament. For the hospital; no phones signal out where it was held, it's in the boondocks. And they're not allowed while you're building."

"Ah," King said, rocking back on his heels. LaSalle did that sometimes, he realized that on this he'd even heard Percy make fun. The children's hospital did a lot of activities, and for some reason he was involved in many of them. King had never asked about it back years ago, it seemed too personal. 

"Wanna come in?" Christopher asked, still looking pretty bleary. He nodded, and Chris retreated into the room. On a side table, there was a picture of him and Percy, working on something. The frame looked way too fancy for his style--to be honest, it looked like it was made of actual gold. 

It was very British colonial India style inside; all pale colors, giant green leaf plants, and old fashioned furniture. It wasn't what he thought Chris would have picked at all. Was this a family property, he thought? Given his tempestuous relationship with seemingly all of his relatives, King always refrained from mentioning any of them. 

He had no doubt absolutely none of them would approve of this relationship. But it wasn't just a relationship in the traditional sense; they were friends, partners. And sometimes they did other stuff. But it seemed more important than just getting naked. He knew that they'd still be the same, still connected, even if they got involved with other people romantically. 

Inside, the rooms were littered with sketchbooks, art-like ones. He asked before he could stop himself, "What're these?"

Chris snapped right out of his tired stupor and looked at him sharply; but then he relaxed and flopped down on the white bed linens. "Just some drawing," he said, blasé. 

There were way too many of them for it to be just 'average', and indeed, King's intuition proved correct. They were excellent, very true to life. Most were just line drawings, landscapes and animals. And then there were other ones, of people at work, even him, but always looking away. 

He flipped through them speechless, as Chris lay there silently. 

"I was going to go tourist watch by the river," he said suddenly, startling him out of his captivated examination of the pages. "I'm starving; beignets seem like just the thing."

"Yeah, I like that," he said, feeling almost vulnerable. Wait, shouldn't that be how Christopher feels? Why is this the other way around, he thought, almost confused, as he followed LaSalle out of the apartment, through the French Quarter, down to the beignet shop by the water. 

Chris started a lively conversation with himself while sipping coffee [King was still too speechless to contribute much] about which characters the nearby costumed group were portraying. Apparently they were all Anne Rice characters.

"Maybe I should write another message," he mused, watching them. At no point did he mention his sketchbooks. King came back to himself. "What message?" he asked. 

Chris looked over at him with a look that implied he'd kind of forgotten he was there [or going to talk, at least]. "Well... sometimes I put up little chalk messages in Pirate's Alley," he whispered. As if that was some big secret; King didn't get it. 

At his confusion, he clarified, "I write a note from one character, you know, the vampires, to another one. So it's like they're down here, somewhere."

He shook his head. "Only you," he said, smiling. He meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> **FYI I take commissions, just message me : )


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